Signs of restlessness...

Tomorrow I catch a very early plane to the Pacific Northwest to visit relatives I haven't seen in a long time. I should be sleeping. But I'm restless, so I take out the little sketch kit I am taking with me. Just something quick to relax: my bag and the book on the bedside table. There. A simple sketch with a few colored pencils, but now I am unwound enough to sleep.

Colored pencil in archival sketch pad, 9x12 cm. (3.5x5 in)

Buddha dreaming

This one was a bit of a surprise to me. I let something loose, and then followed my instincts. Isn't this the way of art? Or, at least, of artists. Whatever it is, it's done: this is what it is. This is a loose pastel drawing on a pastel ground that has been scrubbed, washed, coated with pumice gel. I like the visual texture of all this.

Pastel on Tiziano, 11x11cm (4.25x4.25 in)

Vermont spring sunrise

Up early this morning, let the dog out. Just a glimpse of the hills to the west with a bit of mist laying in the hollow reflecting the rose of the rising sun. A peaceful Sunday morning for an hour or two, until the weekend warriors came out with their machines to wrestle vegetation into submission. I prefer the untamed vegetation of the hills and meadows, the quiet of dawn.

Watercolor on Arches 300 gr cold-pressed, 11x12cm (4.25x4.75in)

Clock with basket

Nearly a month without art, except my almost daily ink scribblings. Serious withdrawal. You remember that aphorism "Time is Nature's way of keeping everything from happening at once"? Well, like the universe, time is also not evenly distributed, and sometimes things come in clumps. I just had one of those clumps. No, you don't get the details. Oh, ok, some of them: Insane political organizing for legislative day- on phone or internet for 10 days straight. Next: Ugly storm. Car assaulted by telephone pole while it sat innocently in my driveway. No heat, phone, or electricity for a week. There's more, but never mind, you get the idea.

I put paper on my easel, and just sat and looked at it, as if that part of my brain had disconnected. And it had. The first thing I did was so awful I destroyed it. Then I put a tiny piece of paper up, and did the first thing I saw, just to make my hands and eyes and brain engage. Then I went outside. The daffodils are blooming, at last. Yellow!

Soft pastel on Arches white, 300gsm, 10x10cm (4x4 in)

Ophelia

A pastel study of two year old Ophelia. Doesn't she have the look of an angel? Don't you believe it. She is a fireball, always finding something interesting to, um, explore. Another grandchild who lives too far away to pose-- as if that were actually a possibility even if she were here! This is from a photo I took of her when she was two, a rare moment when she wasn't a blur.

pastel on Tiziano cream, 13x18cm (5x7 in.)

Phlox and beebalm

Soft pastel on Tiziano white, 30x23cm (12x9 in.)

You know that saying "Time is Nature's way of keeping everything from happening at once"? Well, that's true, but the problem is that, like the universe, it is kinda uneven, and sometimes things clump together. That's the way last week was.

Yesterday afternoon, when I came home, I looked at the five-foot-tall mound of snow next to my house, and imagined the flowers that will be blooming there in a few months. I decided to do a quick sketch just to see if I could capture the feeling of those flowers. Though it still needs finishing, as I look across the room from a distance of about 15 feet, it has the sense of light and color I was looking for. And needed. This morning the temperature is minus 6F and the wind is blowing. So, finished or not, here it is.

This is for my friend Lew.